


die Fehlstelle

by harisenbon



Category: Shaman King (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 05:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harisenbon/pseuds/harisenbon
Summary: Twenty-five birthdays seem like many, but when only twenty-five birthdays would pass between them, that number seemed altogether unacceptable. Faust VIII's fall into madness started on a mild April evening; eight years old, covered in chocolate icing.





	1. 1974

April 8th, 1974  
Staufen im Breisgau, Germany

Grey haze filled the sky that clung closely to the cobblestone-paved street. The street was slick with rainwater, but since the air was so warm, the feeling was more of a friendly spring shower than the aftermath of an icy downpour or of a violent storm. The windows that looked down upon the quaint boulevard were squares of warm, inviting light and if one could peer down from one of them, he could watch the occasional passers-by-- often couples dressed for early spring walking arm-in-arm, or perhaps fathers with their daughters, going along with short steps while the little one enjoyed a sweet. The street lamps had only just come on, bathing the area in the ambience of early evening. Laughter from the pubs on the nearby square could be heard as the laborers, just off the clock, were tucking into plates of sausages, pints of lager. 

Returning to that quieter little residential street, however, even delighted laughter could be heard from within one of the houses in particular. It was a birthday party for a certain little boy who had just turned all of eight years old. A gap-toothed grin adorned his face-- he'd only just lost one of his more prominent baby teeth and it had yet to be replaced by an adult tooth. Despite this small handicap, however, his cake-consumption speed was impressive as he delivered forkful after forkful of fluffy white cake and sumptuous chocolate icing to his lips. The small mouth was rimmed with brown, but he did not seem to notice or care. Bashfully, a very blonde woman knelt and vigorously scrubbed at his face with a cloth napkin. The child looked reluctant. He still did not have many proper friends to call his own, so the long dining table was mostly seated by aunts, uncles, grandparents… There were only three guests who were not family members-- the neighbors from two blocks down, one block up, and they were the Hirsch family, consisting of a mousy-haired mother with premature wrinkles, a balding father with a wiry mustache, and their four-year old little girl who had eyes so blue that they looked nearly purple. The little girl's face was also covered with chocolate icing and she looked altogether too happy at this fact, though her mother was pursing her lips and mimicking the blonde woman's scrubbing attempts. 

The birthday boy laughed with rosy cheeks and the Hirsches were offered more slices of cake, which they reservedly refused. The two parents looked extremely out of place and uncomfortable to be at such an intimate family gathering, but their little girl was giggling in such an infectious way that they could not help but to let slip sad little smiles.

It had been the third doctor visit that week for little Eliza, out of dozens she'd had since the day she was born. The poor child had a strange disorder by which her blood cells were being killed off by her own body, or so said the doctor. The mother and father were not scientific types, but they could see how frail little Eliza was. In order to preserve enough of her red blood cells for her to function, she had to take a combination of unpleasant drugs that caused her to be prone to getting violently ill. They did not know how long they would have left to spend with her. So it was with sad little smiles that they appreciated her laughter from a mouth smeared with cake. Because of her frailty, they dared not take her outside more than necessary, and because of this, it was rare to see her so bright. 

So it was with some reluctance that they'd accepted the good doctor's invitation to come to his son's eighth birthday party. The motivation was that Eliza rarely had the chance to meet other children and the son was apparently the same way. Only eight years old and already invested solely in the spines of books, he hadn't made any friends his age at all. The good doctor had seemed a bit embarrassed to reveal his son's lack of social…ability, so they'd really had no choice. 

An hour and couple cups of coffee later, the Hirsches made their polite goodbyes as Eliza wailed and clung to the petrified birthday's boy's shirt. There was still a smudge of cream from inside the cake on the boy's unthinkably thick glasses and as Eliza sniffled, he patted her small shoulder awkwardly, stuttering over some sort of formal thank-you-for-coming speech. Courteously and in an oddly more composed manner, he thanked Mr. and Mrs. Hirsch for the toy train they'd brought him, though he knew he'd not be playing with it. They knew it, too-- all of his other presents had been books fat enough to serve as doorstops and he'd looked almost weirdly enthusiastic about most of them. Eliza, having finally resigned to being led home, lowered her eyelashes and kissed her new friend on the cheek in spite of her parents' warnings not to kiss people, or touch them, or hug them, or eat their food, or… do anything with them, really. 

"Bye-bye, Johann," she said quietly before being ushered out the door by her mother. And that was that.


	2. 1982

April 8th, 1982  
Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany

The uncharacteristically late snow lay thickly atop the winter-worn paving stones that led to the Hirsches’ front stoop. It stood out as the only walkway on the little backstreet that had not been carefully shoveled to allow the adults out for work. As a result, their humble row house looked quite abandoned. There were no footprints in the snow, either. In truth, no one had emerged from the house in three days. 

Young Eliza thought the undisturbed snow looked like smooth fondant icing, like the perfect white surface of a wedding cake. In a fevered delirium, she imagined the feeling of kneeling in that perfect pillow of snow and cramming her face into it. Surely, the sound it would make would be a perfectly satisfying “ploff” sort of sound. 

Meanwhile, the birthday boy was the birthday boy once again, but this time, a gangly, pimply sixteen-year-old one. More reclusive than ever, it was entirely odd to find him on this day outside of his own house. It was even more odd to note that he was visiting the neighboring town on such a day, especially with the roads as icy and treacherous as they were. He tromped along through the frozen streets, his footsteps firm with resolve. The usual spectacles, twice as thick as before, covered his expression and he sported a bundled-up muffler made from fantastical orange wool. He didn’t much care for orange. But the girl he loved had made it for him, so he wore it gladly. 

Eliza, sitting up in the bed, watched the window with interest, still imagining the feeling of burying her face in a snow bank. Today was Johann’s sixteenth birthday and even though she could not manage to withdraw herself from between the sheets, her mother had come early in the morning to do her hair, filling the long, long blonde curls with countless ribbons. Johann had promised to come, and receive his birthday present. 

Within a few minutes, she was asleep again, dreaming that she was a soldier wearing a uniform made of marzipan and spun sugar. It was so delicate that she could not even move, but the troops around her were running and shouting and panicking in the chaos of the battlefield. She wanted to run, and save herself from getting shot by the enemy, but—

He was almost there, but quite out of breath from the cold and the long walk. Huffing and puffing, he approached the little house very much unabashedly, little clouds appearing in the air as he exhaled. Without much notice, he stepped into the fresh snow mound that covered the walkway leading to the house, his boots leaving sound imprints, ruining the perfect white shape. At the sound of his footsteps crushing against the snow, Eliza woke from her strange dream and glimpsed a mess of blond hair and a bit of orange muffler disappearing underneath the awning. There were footprints in that snowy pillow now. She no longer wanted to put her face in it.

Moments later, a bundle of coats and chilly air edged shyly into the room and Eliza fingered her hair demurely, sitting up in bed among a nest of dainty ruffled pillows. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold and it blended with the acne that dotted his teenage features, making him look all the splotchier. He was still trembling slightly. Eliza gave a small smile and beckoned him into a chair by her bed, beside the radiator. 

She opened her mouth to wish him a happy birthday, but he suddenly spoke up first.

“I-I brought you a… a… uhm…” Lost for even simple words, Johann withdrew a very large stroopwafel wrapped in paper from the inside of his coat. A Dutch bakery owner two streets over made them fresh daily and if Eliza were able to get out of bed, she would have liked to eat them every day, at every meal. Fresh, they were still slightly warm and yet crisp, and the caramel filling would be so soft and chewy. Eliza’s entire face lit up.

“Darling Johann,” she beamed, leaning over to kiss each of his red, cold cheeks in turn. “It is your birthday, but you have brought me a present. I am a happy girl. Thank you.” Her eyes shone glassily through the fever, but her smile was genuine. “And I have a thing for you,” she said in a soft voice. If a feather could speak, it would likely have Eliza’s voice. Young Johann leaned in to hear her better. His heart wrenched at the audible form of her weakness and he barely registered that she was trying to give him something as she pushed a small paper package into his hands. He only returned to the moment when her tiny voice started urging him to open it and silently, he pried apart the decorative twine and patterned paper. 

It was a thin, fabric-bound book, notably different from the texts and tomes he never failed to receive every year from his family. A small smile appeared on his lips as he opened it. Only he and Eliza knew their secret pastime. She had taught him to play the piano and they liked to spend their afternoons playing little duets, sometimes from the piano-book and sometimes ones of their own creation. He ran his finger along the spine of the book, betraying that it had been sewn together by hand. The pages were handwritten music sheets of their favorite duets, interrupted here and there by a page or two of poems, or a blank page for diary notes to be written later. He did not know what to say in thanks for such a priceless treasure.

“Do you like it, Johann? I am sorry that I could not go out to purchase something more fashionable to give to you…” Eliza broke the silence, her voice punctuated by the crinkling of bakery paper as she raised her still-warm stroopwafel to her mouth. It was crisp and sweet on the inside and she savored it immensely. 

Still lost for words, Johann wrapped his arms around Eliza’s slender shoulders, placing his palm against her beribboned blonde hair. Her face pressed gently into the misshapen orange muffler she had knitted for him last Christmas. A tiny giggle escaped her as the wool tickled her nose and she blushed prettily, a little bit glad that her face was hidden. She had grown so thin that he could feel the distinct shape of her bones through the back of her dress and even her bones felt delicate as he stroked her back, half-lovingly and half-analytically. How beautiful Eliza was, even in her fragility. His fingers ran absently over the ridge where her scapulae overlapped her birdlike ribcage. Buried in his muffler still, Eliza’s face had grown beet red and as Johann’s thin fingers moved over her back, she felt a sudden shiver. Abruptly, his hand was gone and feeling her shiver, he pulled away. Flustered and overly aware of the heat in her cheeks, Eliza raised the thankfully large stroopwafel to her face again. 

“S-Sorry,” Johann stammered, suddenly unable to make eye contact. “My hands must still be cold…” His own face felt hot as well and he clutched the little book tightly to himself, feeling inspired anew to return to his studies to become a doctor.


	3. 1987

The outside air still clung to a wintry chill of sorts, but the sun felt like spring as its rays touched the first pale green buds of the year. A single cut crocus bloomed sweetly from a graduated flask on the windowsill. Inside the little room, Eliza again played the part of the sleeping beauty. Her fair hair, spread out over the pillows that were dressed in flowered covers from home, gave her the look of such a golden princess. Her hands, folded peacefully upon her breast, had grown from plump little girl’s hands into the slender hands of a lady, white and long. 

This peaceful scene, however, did not reflect itself outside the wooden door, which thankfully remained closed. 

“She is dying now, Mister Hirsch. We have two options remaining to us: experimental care or preparing her for the end of her life. There are no other options.” Doctor Faust’s voice had grown very firm, almost impatient. His son, Johann, stood by, looking quite deranged with his eyes all but hidden by his nest of unkempt hair and laughably thick spectacles. He wordlessly rustled through a thick stack of folders. Brilliant he was, but no bedside manner to speak of. 

“This is your fault,” Hirsch accused, his voice cracking and betraying more sorrow than anger. “If only you hadn’t started her on that, that... imapro-whatsitcalled, she would never h-have…” He trailed off, unable to stop himself as tears dripped into his wiry mustache. He couldn’t truly lay the blame on the good doctor who was the likely reason his daughter had made it to her seventeenth year. But he had to blame someone, something, anything… His hands, balled into fists, trembled as he stifled his sobs. 

“Father, we have to start the transplant today or else it might be too—“

“Silence, Johann, this isn’t the time.” Doctor Faust shot a glare at his son, who promptly fell silent again. He knew that if there was one person in the room who still believed that Eliza would recover, it was his son. And he also knew that if there was one person in the room who had never once dealt with the inevitability of Eliza’s death, it was his son. Faced with it, it seemed that Johann had resolved to proceed with hope in his heart. Doctor Faust felt proud, especially knowing that the experimental therapy that could become Eliza’s last chance was Johann’s invention. But he needed Hirsch to grasp at this last bit of hope, as well. It was clear to him that Eliza’s mother, Mrs. Hirsch had reached for this hope long ago when she had agreed to become the donor. But her husband seemed weary of swinging from spider’s thread to spider’s thread, to put it metaphorically. Doctor Faust could not blame him. All he could do was offer him a piece of sterile drape to blow his nose on. How powerless they all were in the face of Death.

Johann cared not to waste time. He felt how, as each day passed, Eliza’s hand grew cooler in his as he grasped it, praying to God for a miracle to save her. He noticed as her breaths had grown shallower, her cheeks hollower, her skin paler. And just today, he’d nearly fainted when he went to her room to take her pulse and he could not find it. Desperately, he had listened at her chest for her heartbeat and it was there, but her pulse was so feeble that it could barely be felt. He knew, more intimately than anyone, that Eliza did not have time. Death already hovered over her, beckoning her away from him. And he would have to depend on only himself for a miracle. He understood this well in his cynical doctor’s mind. 

With Eliza’s father lost in his despair in the hallway outside, Johann disappeared into the peaceful little room with the wooden door. He washed his hands before running his thumb over Eliza’s thin cheek.

“Please stay with me, my dearest Eliza,” he whispered as he knelt down by the head of the bed. Cradling her face in his hand, he laid a kiss on her brow before gently pulling the covers down. His fingers slipped over her cold skin as he unbuttoned her dress. 

Johann Faust VIII turned twenty-one years of age in that room as he inserted the central line to deliver the treatment that would save Eliza Hirsch’s life.


	4. 1992

April 8th, 1992  
Staufen im Breisgau, Germany

“Watch your step,” Johann warned as Eliza placed a trembling foot down onto the uneven stone step that led down to the street in front of the Fausts’ renowned family clinic. Her hand was tense and heavy in his as she leaned on him for support. Eliza had led most of her life from her bed and her thin, birdlike legs were good for little more than decoration. But at least she was finally able to go outside and walk about like a normal lady should be able to, and she had finally achieved to where she could walk and stand supported for up to ten minutes before needing to sit and rest. And Johann was more than happy to be her support as he led her out and about the little town with her hand happily resting in the crook of his arm. 

“You look very handsome today, Johann,” Eliza said sweetly. As she had recovered, her voice had become stronger as well, but retained that feathery quality that never failed to touch Johann’s heart. He smiled bashfully and watched as Eliza steadied herself on the cobblestones. His glasses were still as thick as could be but his eyes shone brightly and cheerfully from behind the lenses. The tired shadows under them had faded dramatically over the past five years as Eliza had slowly recovered thanks to his experimental treatment and the donation of her mother’s bone marrow. 

“How about we go have a crepe in the park together?” he suggested, tucking Eliza’s hand securely against his elbow. They often went to park since there were many benches for Eliza to sit and rest on. She nodded eagerly and with determination set in her focused expression, they started to make their way down the street. It was a bright morning, a bit warm for the time of year, but pleasantly so. Eliza still wore a jacket, but mainly to conceal her birthday surprise to Johann in, as she could not yet carry a pocketbook. 

Little did she know, however, that he had a surprise of his own for her that day. As they slowly proceeded in the early spring sunshine, he felt his heart leaping in his chest as he fingered the small box in his pocket. As a result, he was even quieter than usual and Eliza found herself wondering if he was feeling down about something. Shyly, she reached up to fidget with the plump bow she had carefully placed above her ear. She hoped her present might at least be able to cheer him up. For the first time, she had been able to go out and choose something to give him from a store instead of only having her clumsy handicrafts to offer. Of course she had no way of knowing that Johann treasured what she viewed as “clumsy handicrafts” more than he valued his own life, but finally feeling that she had a dignified gift to offer, she was truly excited to see him open it. Absently, she wondered if he was starting to feel old and perhaps that accounted for his strange silence. Though he was only turning twenty-six… She laughed to herself. Johann had grown into a very gallant and handsome man. Even his mess of blond hair, looking every day as if he’d just woken up from a crazy dream, had certain flair to it. She stared at him, smiling fondly. Of course she knew that he loved her and she loved him back with all her heart. But sometimes she wondered if his kindness and chivalry towards her could be owed more to her pitiable condition than to any particular intentions or feelings that he held for her. Their relationship had been always sweet, as long as she could remember, and she knew that she was special to him. But she could not name Johann’s intentions toward her as they had a very unique history with each other. Eliza gently squeezed his arm to beckon his attention and she offered him the prettiest smile she could muster. He blushed. Eliza watched as his nose and cheeks reddened and she giggled, which made him turn even redder and she felt comforted. 

The silence between them grew more comfortable as Eliza focused on her steps and Johann focused on calming his racing heart. It took them fifteen minutes to reach the park and Eliza, quite out of breath, settled onto the nearest bench to rest while Johann went to buy the crepes. He already knew that she fancied the kind with caramel and fresh bananas. While she waited, she savored the warm air and the green fragrance of new spring leaves. Her hands clutched the parcel in her lap tightly. She had asked the shopkeeper to wrap it in beautiful paper and ribbons, tired of looking at her own dowdy homemade wrappings. 

Johann soon returned clutching two filled crepes. As she accepted hers with a grateful smile, she casually laid the flashy package in his lap as he sat down. “Happy birthday, Johann,” she said, beaming. Immediately, he could tell that it was store-bought and he smiled, a hint of sadness tingeing his expression. He had been truthfully looking forward to what sort of handmade thing she would offer him this year but he supposed it was only natural that she would choose to buy it from a store now that she could go outside. She always apologized for not buying him something from a store and he knew that she felt embarrassed about it. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “May I open it?” Eliza nodded eagerly and held out her hand to hold his crepe. He handed it to her and gingerly unpeeled the fancy wrapping paper. Inside was a very handsome fountain pen with a gilded cap. It was indeed, a very dignified gift. Johann found it beautiful and he would certainly use it every day and think of her, but somehow, he wanted something more. He looked back into Eliza’s expectant face and smiled at her, a pure smile that earned a blush from her this time. He leaned in close and kissed her cheek. 

“It’s very beautiful. Thank you,” he said. “But there is one little thing missing. May I?” His fingers reached up to touch her golden hair. Blushing wildly, Eliza had no idea what he was wanting when she nodded. Slowly, he pulled the end of the silk ribbon she had tied above her ear and took it away to tie to the chain of his pocket-watch. She watched him with a quizzical expression and he smiled at her again, contentedly. “It was missing something of yours,” he said finally, and she turned bright tomato red from the tips of her ears all the way down to her toes. 

They sat for several minutes then, simply enjoying each other’s company as they ate the crepes. Finishing his off, Johann could finally wait no more. Eliza, apparently daydreaming, had a splotch of cream stuck to her upper lip. As he looked at her, his heart about to leap out of his chest, he suddenly snorted with laughter. She jumped and he reached out to wipe it off. “We are in public, my dear,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Though we can certainly return to the days of me spoon-feeding you at your bedside if you would prefer.” Eliza scowled petulantly. “Did you get it off?” she asked insistently, scrubbing her whole mouth area with the back of her hand. “Yes, don’t worry,” he said, still grinning. Eliza pouted, now embarrassed. “Don’t be such a ninny, Johann, you should know better than to tease girls.” Johann’s grin turned into an apologetic smile. “Of course I do,” he said gently. Caught off guard, Eliza looked away but he reached out again to catch her face in his palm and turn it back towards him. “Beautiful Eliza,” he said, love apparent in his eyes. “Please don’t look away.” Her face grew warm again and he grew closer. She barely had time to register what was happening before his lips pressed against hers and he was kissing her in earnest but it ended as soon as it had begun and the only proof that it had happened was the dizzy, giddy feeling it left behind. Eliza’s eyes widened at the realization that she had just experienced her first kiss and it was with the man she truly loved more than anyone else. She was so happy that she felt that her heart could burst. But her happiness was soon replaced by surprise as Johann slid off the bench onto the ground where he sat on his knees and took her hands in his. Quite sure she had stopped breathing, she stared as he took a small box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a glistening ring.

“My dear Eliza,” he said, looking up at her, suddenly a bit concerned that all color had suddenly left her face. “Would you do me the great honor of marrying me?”   
She swooped down with more force than she reasonably should have been able to summon and kissed him again, once, twice, three times, throwing her arms around him and bursting into extremely unladylike tears. “Of course I will, Johann,” she cried, her heart screaming with happiness. “The honor is mine.”

Their wedding followed soon after and was short, very simple, and very sparsely attended, but not a happier couple could be found in all of Germany.


	5. 1995

April 8th, 1995  
Heiligendamm im Mecklenburg, Germany

“My father is retiring,” Johann announced as he set himself down heavily in his chair at the kitchen table. He both looked and sounded tired and seemed less than happy that his father was moving on from the working world. Eliza’s brow crinkled with concern. 

“Doctor Faust was always so very good to me,” she commented quietly. “It is a loss, but he must deserve a happy retirement.” She set the sugar bowl down onto the table along with Johann’s customary mug of coffee. 

“It is not so much the fact that he is retiring as it is the reason,” he sighed, looking truly miserable now. “He’s been forgetting things lately. It is the first sign, you know. Of the—“

“The Faust family madness?” Eliza finished for him, seating herself with her own cup of coffee. “My dear, he’s getting old. Forgetfulness isn’t exactly unusual for someone of his age, I’m sure you are aware.” Eliza looked quite sure, very sure, in fact, that the good, kind, honest Doctor Faust was not coming down with a case of hereditary insanity. But Johann himself was quite sure of the opposite. 

“Of all the people in the world, Eliza, I would have hoped for at least a teaspoon of sympathy from you,” he muttered angrily, stirring a single sugar cube into his mug. Without bothering to at least put the used spoon in the sink, he tossed it onto the table towards his wife and stalked off, presumably to his study. Eliza stared after him coldly and feeling thoroughly disrespected. So much for the new hat she had bought him for his birthday. It would remain hidden in the closet until he decided to be a more civilized person, she decided, and with that, she went off to take care of her own business, leaving Johann’s used spoon on the table. Men could be such pigs sometimes. 

The clinic was closed, as it was Sunday, but Eliza was hard at work inside, shelving the files of patients they had seen over the previous week. Being the only clinic in the small coastal town meant that they had their work cut out for them, but the cases were all much the same. Scrapes and lacerations from diving near the rocks. The occasional flu that went around. Travelers experiencing nausea from sea travel. It was all very much typical and it was a peaceful life, though sometimes it could feel as though every day was the same. Jingling and the sound of panting announced the arrival of their pet dog, Frankie. Eliza let slip a small smile, feeling her mood improve. Frankie always looked like he was in good spirits. She took a small break to give his ears a decent scratching and she picked a stray flower out of his collar that had gotten stuck there. Frankie liked to roll in the buttercups that grew in the yard and he would sometimes come home tinted yellow because of them. Already feeling her sourness fading away, she tucked the buttercup into the band that kept her hair out of her face and got back to work. She would hurry up so she could go make lunch and properly apologize to Johann.

But, as it so happened, she didn’t find herself wrapping up on her work until close to sundown. An examination of the supply closet revealed that they were nearly out of gauze and tourniquets, which she then had to order. On top of that she knocked out nearly two hours attempting to troubleshoot the autoclave as the instruments were coming out cold and still noticeably soiled. They would have to call a repairman out to fix it the next day; it couldn’t be helped. 

The click of the key in the lock and the sound of the front door opening made her jump. She hadn’t even noticed how late it had become and how dark it had become as well. “Johann?” she called, wiping grease from her hands on a paper towel as she stepped out into the waiting room. Sure enough, her husband stood in the doorway, his expression making her wonder if he had gotten run over by a truck during her absence. Frankie licked his hands expectantly but Johann ignored him, reaching over instead to turn on the lights. The overhead bulbs made him look paler and more tired than ever. Wordlessly, Eliza went to him. 

“Johann, I—“

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close, effectively cutting her off. “No, it was my fault, I lost my temper, I am so—“

“Please let me say I am sorry,” Eliza interrupted, reaching up to lay a hand against Johann’s cheek. It moved under her palm as he offered her a small smile.

“Only if you will also accept my apologies,” he said, his own hand covering hers. For several moments they stared into each other’s eyes in the silent clinic, each feeling pride in the love they shared. 

“I-I have a birthday gift for you,” Eliza finally said, breaking the moment. “In the house. I need to turn the autoclave off and put out the mail for tomorrow, but I’ll be up there in a few minutes. Would you please start some water boiling for the noodles? I’m just starving.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled insistently. Johann smiled tenderly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand and he turned to leave without another word. The door shut behind him and Frankie started to whine, obviously feeling left out. Eliza gave him a pat on the head before heading back to shut off the autoclave. 

Barely two minutes passed before she heard the front door open again. When she’d said “a few minutes”, she’d really meant perhaps ten or fifteen, but it seemed that Johann didn’t want to wait. Laughing to herself and clutching the mail, she stepped back out into the hallway leading to the waiting room. “You can’t leave a pot on the stove unattended,” she called in a teasing voice, her shoes clicking on the tiles as she made her way towards the front. She jumped as Frankie suddenly barked, the sound echoing loudly. “Johann??” she called again as she appeared from around the corner. A loud sound, like a resounding pop rang out and Frankie crumpled to the floor. Eliza screamed in terror as she realized that Frankie had been shot and that the figure in the doorway was not her husband. She barely had time to realize what was about to happen before the next deafening shot rang out and Eliza knew no more.


	6. 1998

April 8th, 1998  
Heiligendamm im Mecklenburg, Germany

 

“Think it’s abandoned?” A boy of a guessed thirteen or fourteen years of age prodded his companion with a large forked stick he’d picked up on the beach. The salty waves had worn it smooth and whitened, like polished bone. And the house on the hill, once also smooth and white, had begun to grow into the hill itself, it seemed, only a bit of white paint peeking out from the overgrown vines and shadows. It looked as though it was drowning.

“Nah. Father says that you can see a light in the window at night sometimes. There’s probably someone living there, maybe they’re just too old to do the gardening.” A second boy with a calm, logical gait withstood the prodding patiently.

“Sheesh, Felix, you’re as dull as ever. What about ghosts? That’s what I’m obviously getting at. Your dad might be dull like you, but everyone else has decided that place is just haunted!”

“I dunno anything about ghosts, Philipp…” Felix’s eyes were downcast as he kicked a flat rock out of the road.

“Remember three years ago? That nurse got shot and it was all over the news for like a week? They caught the shooter but then he turned up dead in his cell before he ever made it front of a judge.”

“And they said that he killed himself and you don’t believe it.” Felix was starting to sound irritated. They’d talked about this nonstop for almost a month after it had happened. Philipp’s father was a detective, for what it was worth in their tiny, quiet seaside town. And Philipp loved nothing more than to gossip magnanimously about the seldom occasion his father would have a case that amounted to more than a cat leaving a paw print on a slice of bread left out on a windowsill.

“He’s still investigating. That case is still open,” he hissed in a dramatic, conspiratorial tone. “He got murdered in his cell by a vengeful ghost, ya know?”

“You’re full of it, Philipp,” Felix sighed. “Let’s go home.”

“You’re no fun at all!” Philipp scowled and ran after his friend, chucking the stick he was carrying into the overgrown yard. Craving baked beans in tomato sauce, his stomach rumbled and he picked up his pace as they started on their way home. And he missed out entirely as five long, white, skeletal fingers slowly emerged from the soil where he had thrown his unwanted stick. They wrapped around it and rested there, like some sort of macabre plant or vine.

Inside the house, Faust rested.

Reclining on a dilapidated sofa, he reached up to touch one of the purple crystals that dangled above him from the ceiling with a single withered finger. It spun in the twilight that trickled in lazily through the western windows, sparkling and twinkling prettily. He had two purple crystals in total, hanging there from bits of old decorative twine. They reminded him of her eyes and he could feel her weight on top of him, her beautiful face staring down at him. And the sun set and then rose again around her, her hair reflecting in shades of gold, buttercream, polished bronze. In faithful representation of that gorgeous phenomenon, he was drying countless buttercups that hung from the ceiling around his two favorite purple crystals, tied up in silk ribbons of myriad colors. Crystals, buttercups. And her gifts to him, for birthday and Christmas, and Valentine’s Day, they lay around his sofa as he reclined there, wasting away into the rotting cushions. The room, no, the entire house, was filled with the smell of dust and the more insidious odor of something else, perhaps dead bodies, perhaps Death itself, but the smell was that of consumption, only what lingers behind, like one’s breath after a heavy meal.

“We shall be going away soon, dear Eliza,” Faust murmured, reaching up again to set a purple crystal spinning once more. “Going away, yes, going far from here, but I will leave the house just as it was so that when we return together, we can just go to bed. I know you will be tired, my dear. You never were terribly good at traveling.”

He sat up finally, his motions sharper and faster than one might expect from his deteriorated appearance. “Eliza!” he suddenly called out loudly, his voice raspy but commanding. A series of clicks seemed to respond to him. “Come here!”

A skeleton appeared in the doorway, with bones that were very smooth and white. It was a very beautiful specimen, if not for the vicious looking hole in the skull, surrounded by painful cracks. If you looked closely at her, it was almost as if you could see her creamy skin, her slender arms and legs, the doll-like proportions of her womanly shape. She was a golden haired princess in skeletal form.

“I am sorry my dear, were you busy?” Faust moved into the fading light. The skeletal woman did the same and suddenly, she was just a woman, albeit a very beautiful and solemn one, too young and too pretty for the crumbling house that stood around her, and for the crumbling man that stood before her. Silently, she nodded. Her very long, very blonde hair rustled as she moved.

“You are very lovely as always,” he murmured, reaching out to run the tip of his thumb over her long, light eyelashes. She did not blink or move her gaze to meet his. He smiled an admiring smile that suggested that he was proud of not only the beauty of his wife, but of the beauty of his work.

“Let us go, dear Eliza. You have packed the needed items?” She nodded again and the room was plunged into darkness as the last bit of sun disappeared below the horizon.

The taxi driver frowned as he peered into the backseat of his cab through the rearview mirror. He’d been ordered to pick up a passenger at the abandoned clinic on the hill, of all places, and if the location wasn’t unusual enough, the passenger himself seemed utterly bizarre. The destination was the airport but the luggage he’d brought was strange; two of the cases were wrapped in what seemed to be bandages, and one of them had torn out sheets of a diary stuck all over it. The fact that it was dark outside did not do much to settle the driver’s nerves and his hands felt sweaty on the wheel.

Faust offered the driver a polite smile and pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. The drive was silent, and quick. As he collected the fare, the driver did not even count the bills. Wordless, he stood by the curb, watching as Faust shambled away with his luggage. The suitcase covered in papers seemed to be of particular importance as he cradled it in his arms, almost lovingly. The driver shivered as he climbed back into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Immediately, he covered his face with his hand.

“Fuck, it stinks!” he spat, immediately rolling down a window and speeding off.

With wide eyes, the stewardesses whispered to one another, in deep discussion regarding the customer in 26 A. Or, perhaps, the customers, as the gentleman in 26 A had purchased not only his own seat, but 26 B, as well, into which he had carefully strapped a mysterious brown leather trunk, pasted all over with pages scribbled in illegible handwriting.

“Where are we going after this, mister?” A brave one stepped up with a plastic cup of water. Faust turned to look up at her and she flinched. He looked like he had a broken nose for the grotesque purple rings under his eyes. He took the cup of water and silently swallowed several pills before responding.

“Japan,” he finally said. He gave the stewardess the empty cup. “My wife is very eager to try on a kimono. She saw them in a fashion magazine a few months ago.”

“O-Oh…” The stewardess faltered, unsure of what to say. “Well, you must bring one to her… It is good that you have a large trunk.” She gestured to the trunk in the seat, hoping he would tell her what was in it. She knew her crew would feel much more at ease, knowing what could be so important in carry luggage that one would purchase an extra seat for it.

Faust scowled. He knew he wouldn’t be so easily understood, but it irritated him all the same.

“My wife will be accompanying me,” he said shortly before turning his head towards the window. The conversation was over.

“Geez Dad, what were you doing in this dang car?!” Felix grunted as he laid out across the backseat of his father’s taxi cab with a vacuum cleaner in hand. His father had come home looking like he’d seen a ghost and his cab was filled with an unexplainable smell that reminded Felix of when he and Philipp had tried to bury a roadkill possum. No matter how hard Felix scrubbed the seats with the vacuum brush, the smell wouldn’t come out.

“I picked up a bloke,” his father said finally, slumped over in a lawn chair set up in the garage. “From the abandoned clinic on the hill.”

Felix shut off the vacuum cleaner, his conversation with Philipp from earlier returning to him.

“What was he like?” Felix wouldn’t be so easily spooked.

“Tall. White coat and hat. He had a muffler on even though it’s warm. He had these two suitcases wrapped in bandages and one of them had pages stuck all over it. And when he left and I got back in the car, everything smelled so goddamn awful.”

Felix said nothing. He turned the vacuum back on and kept scrubbing.

Faust turned the crystal he had taken from his house over and over again in his pocket. He remembered the way she would slip her hand into his coat pocket on a cold day and they would hold hands there, watching as their breath rose into the misty morning sky, grey and heavy with snow. Even though they’d bought pairs of matching kidskin gloves one year for early Christmas, it was rare for either of them to wear them for this very reason. It was like an unspoken rule, to never wear gloves even though they both owned them. Emerging from this beautiful memory, Faust shivered in the dry plane air, overcome with loneliness. How he missed her and how he felt forbidden from missing her all the same.

_“August 6th, 1995_

_Father came to visit today, dear Eliza, and he asked if you were at home. I told him that you were out to tea with a friend, and I have told him that excuse the past six times he has been up to visit, but he forgets every time so it is new to him each time. Mother does not come any more; she sends Armand along to look after Father instead. I think she may sense that something is terribly wrong._

_I sat in Frankie’s buttercup meadow today and watched the clouds for a while. You would have scolded me, my dear, for lying there in my white coat. Indeed, everything had little yellow spots on it afterwards that took some trouble getting rid of._

_I miss you every day of this life I’ve lived without you so far, my dear Eliza. Sometimes I resent you, blame you, want to scream at you. Why couldn’t you have locked the door after I’d left you at the clinic that evening? Why did you have to leave this world before I did? Did you value the life we worked so hard to give you? Did you even care? But then I break down, knowing that if there’s anything you are guilty of, my dear, anything at all, it is only being too innocent, too lovely, and too frail, perhaps, but nothing more. And I miss your feather voice and your blushing cheeks and the expression on your face when you are hungry for pasta and potatoes and cake all at once but can only choose one. I cannot be allowed to miss you, dear Eliza, because I cannot wait for you to return. But missing you somehow makes it feel as though you are still there so I do it anyway, and pray that I can return to that life we shared too briefly, if only in a dream._

_Deflecting your death once forced me to savor every moment I ever spent with you, my dear Eliza. If there is one thing—“_

There was a continuation, but it blurred to nothing, the bottom half of the page apparently ripped or burned in a way that destroyed the rest of the message. The paste that held it onto the suitcase gave way and the paper peeled off and disappeared between the seats, unnoticed.

“Almost there, my dear,” Faust murmured. And if one listened closely, a series of soft clicks could be heard from the suitcase next to him.


End file.
